


Sketches

by 50251sid



Category: The Borgias, The Borgias (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 01:08:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1761425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/50251sid/pseuds/50251sid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A day in the life of Cesare and Lucrezia, siblings, lovers...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sketches

She had cried last night after he made love to her, and he anxiously asked if he had hurt her.

“No,” she replied. “I’m crying because I’m happy. You make me so happy.”

Which made absolutely no sense to him. Crying because she was _happy_? So he just held her tightly until she fell asleep, and he lay awake, contemplating the ineffable mystery that was Woman.

 

She was still sleeping when he woke, so he slid quietly from the bed, stretched his long, nude body and headed to the shower. The hot water felt good, hitting his sluggish skin and perking him up. He used some of her girlie shampoo on his hair because he liked the smell and it ran into his eyes, so he felt her rather than saw her enter the shower with him. Her small hands slid around his soap-slick body and he turned to face her, brushing her wet hair back from her face and kissing her smiling lips. He washed her from head to toe, a good excuse to run his hands over her body, delighting in the fullness of her breasts and her rounded belly and the lush ivory curves of her backside. Kneeling, with water running down his face and body, he pressed his mouth to her pussy, licking her while she stood, her head thrown back in ecstasy, her fingers tangled in his hair. Afterwards, she dried him with a big white towel and then sat on the vanity counter and let him fuck her, his forearms braced on either side of her to support himself as he stood looming over her. She did not realize she had bitten his shoulder until her breathing returned to normal and she saw the mark. He cupped the side of her face in one hand and kissed her throat, then withdrew from her body. She embraced him tightly one more time before she let him go to get dressed.

 

Since it was Saturday, she cooked a leisurely breakfast for the two of them. They decided to tour the Museum of Art and then afterwards from a vendor bought a bag of peanuts and fed them to the squirrels inhabiting the park near the museum. On this warm spring day, the fluffy-tailed rodents were out in legions, chattering and scampering up and down the trees. He wanted to carve their initials inside a heart on one of the trees, but she begged him not to, afraid of injuring it. She placed her left hand against the bark and said she felt the tree’s life force and emotions. He simply nodded and kissed her instead. They walked along a pathway around the lake in the park. He kept his arm around her waist. Her head only came to his shoulder, so he had to bend to kiss her. They sat on a bench and watched the ducks on the water. She was enchanted by the movements of their webbed feet and told him that, if they ever lived on a farm, she would like to have a cow and some ducks. And a chicken coop. “No horses?” he asked her and she said “No, too much work.”

 

They stopped for coffee and scones at a Starbucks and leaned in close to each other, their foreheads almost touching. Her golden hair mingling with his dark curls made a lovely contrast and caught the notice of the other patrons. She raised her hand to gently brush away a crumb from his lip and an older woman, quietly observing, gasped at the tenderness and sensuality of the gesture.

 

Up until now, the day had been pleasant and mild, but a sudden chilly breeze sprang up and made her shiver, causing her nipples to stiffen and stand out beneath her knit top. The sight aroused him and he wondered if his sexual desire for her was excessive. Because _everything_ , every gesture, every look, every scent, every smile, made him think of fucking her. Well, excessive or not, it was a good thing for him that she clearly wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Some of his friends had confided to him that their girlfriends, for fear of unwanted pregnancy, would not allow them to ejaculate inside them. _Seriously?_   He could not even imagine her denying him that.  He smiled, smugly, as he recalled her urging him to give it to her, to come in her. She swore she could feel it hitting inside her; she was that tuned in to him. Now _he_ shivered, and his nipples hardened. When they returned home from their walk, he would need to have her again. _Christ!_

 

They got up out of bed and changed the sheets, then carried several baskets of laundry to the basement of the building and filled three washers, plugging coins into the slots and noting the time so that they could return later to put their things in the dryer. In their apartment, she ran the vacuum cleaner and he wiped down the bathroom. She fixed them some tuna salad and raw vegetables for lunch. He poured glasses of white wine and popped a movie into the DVD player, which they watched cuddling together with their stocking feet on the coffee table. Sexually sated, smitten with gratitude and love for her, he did not mind that the film was one of those pretentious, subtitled, foreign films which she favored, although he would rather have watched car crashes and explosions and assault rifles. Midway through the movie, she got up to go transfer their laundry from the washer to the dryer. He insisted upon accompanying her. He would not allow her to go to the basement alone. After the movie was over, they collected the wash and carried it back to the apartment where they folded it. He went online to answer some email and she painted her toenails and walked around awkwardly with toe separators until the polish dried. He laughed and thought her endearingly funny.

 

She put on a simple dark dress and sandals and he wore khaki pants and a T shirt and they went to dinner at a Chinese restaurant. She told him that with his physique, even khakis and a T shirt looked like high fashion on him. He smiled shyly and kissed her. She picked up a piece of chicken with her chopsticks and fed it to him.

 

Holding hands, they strolled home in the warm evening. It was just beginning to get dark, and they watched the street lamps turn on. She raised her eyes to his and he bent down and they kissed.

 

At home, she bathed and put on body lotion and face cream, then slipped into a light nightgown and got into bed. Leaning against the headboard, she read a book while he showered, but set it aside when, wearing pajama bottoms, he came to join her. They spoke quietly for a few moments, then he cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her. She switched off the bedside lamp and they settled down with her head on his chest, their arms around each other. He slid his long leg between her satiny calves, possessively, claiming her.

“I had a lovely day,” she murmured to him. “Tomorrow, maybe we could rent some bicycles and take a spin around the park. Then we could go to the fish store and I’ll get some fresh flounder and cook it for dinner. Get some French bread, too. And asparagus.”

“That sounds perfect. Every day with you is perfect. You are perfect.”

She pressed a kiss to his bare chest and sighed, and he felt her body relax against his. Soon, her light, even breathing let him know that she was sleeping.

 

Moonlight shone in through the uncurtained window and imparted a platinum gloss to the outline of her body beneath the sheet. He ran a gentle hand over the curve of her hip and sighed with contentment, and he lay awake, contemplating the ineffable mystery that was Woman.


End file.
